Purple Treasure

You blew in the door

   on a leafy breeze,

      a purple treasure

in your fist.

“Mom, these are for you.

         Put them in water.

I think they’re thirsty.”

You tumbled back outside,

coattail flapping,

boots too large and clomping.

I grabbed

my own coat

to follow in your wake.

     Why toil

 in the confines

       of this

furnished cage?

I could be


with you,

braving the wind,

         scuffling in the leaves,

            finding gifts of indigo

by the woodland edge.

Time is running out.


there will no longer be

a little girl

   with purple treasure

in her fist.

2 thoughts on “Purple Treasure

  1. “Furnished cage.” What a good description and how sad that I’m so often a volunteer to this cage when I could be out with my children.

  2. Pingback: The Irony of Writing About Motherhood | Stephanie J. Leinbach

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